


An Assassin's Past

by mitsukai613



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, bottom Altair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-11 21:38:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4453331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitsukai613/pseuds/mitsukai613
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of the game, Malik begins to uncover Altair's past, his life before he was recruited into the Assassin's order. He takes it upon himself to uncover the rest and get revenge, until at last Altair discovers what he's been doing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

                The day Altair apologized, the day I forgave him, was also the day that I began to grow curious about who he truly was. I had been born in Masyaf and trained from birth to be an assassin; I knew everyone who had been born in the same circumstances at a similar time, and no matter what had been said, Altair did not appear in our midst until I was perhaps fourteen and he no more than a year or two younger. I did not understand why everyone seemed to accept so easily that he had been born in Masyaf when I knew so clearly that that couldn’t possibly be true, and yet of all the things I heard people complain over in regards to him, that particular lie was never among them. More than that, he never spoke of family or of friends, only ever dancing around the questions if I asked, deft and clever where normally he was heavy-handed and blunt. Even his name brought questions; very few would so proudly call themselves the son of none, and yet he did, no one ever questioning it or asking about it.

                Perhaps what made me the most curious was the way he avoided even the most casual of touches; where most simply took the feather from my hand when I offered it, he always waited until I lay it on the table instead, as if the slightest brush of my fingers were poison. Even a pat to his shoulder, clothed under so many layers of robes and armor, provoked a quickly concealed flinch, and even that was an improvement as he used to avoid the gesture entirely. I knew but a handful of others who behaved similarly, and none of them were born assassins.

                I avoided asking for a long while, given the troubles we had to face with Al Mualim and his own ascension to the master of our order, but on one particularly hot afternoon, when he had taken refuge in my bureau to wait for sunset, I could not resist the urge.

                “Altair, I have wondered this for some time, but it has not been appropriate to ask. Where, exactly, are you from?” He did not look me in the face and I knew he was going to lie; I do not think he had been able to lie to me, at least not well, since Solomon’s Temple. I expect it was the same guilt that affected much of his interaction with me.

                “Masyaf,” he said, quick, obviously wanting me to drop the subject, but I found myself unwilling.

                “You must think I am stupid, Altair. I was born in Masyaf, and you are not so much younger than me. I never saw you before my true Assassin’s training began; you were not there.” He shrugged, flashing a quick grin before his face settled to its normal neutrality.

                “Perhaps you aren’t as observant as you think, Malik.” I raised a brow, turning my head down to look at the map I was working on in hopes that he might be more willing to speak if I wasn’t looking at him.

                “You never seemed to know any of the boys close to our age; you always had to be introduced. All of us born in Masyaf were close because we always played together and later trained together. I say again, you were not there.” He shrugged.

                “I am not a social man, Malik, I never was.” I felt myself frown, some; I didn’t want to bring up what I’d noticed about his avoidance of touch even though he would almost surely speak if I did, at least to somehow explain that, as I didn’t particularly wish to hurt him.

                “Do you not trust me, Altair? I doubt your birthplace would make me think you less an assassin; your truly remarkable lack of subtlety does that well enough by itself.” He was silent for a while, gaze fixed on the books on my walls as if they held any interest to him. Finally, though, he answered, his voice quieter than I’d ever heard it, perhaps a bit distant.

                “Damascus, the poor district, or at least that was where I lived. I do not know if I was born there or not. My first memories are of life in a boy’s home in that district.” Son of none indeed. The words didn’t surprise me, exactly, I’d expected something similar, but to hear it spoken aloud that way, so quietly, almost worried, was something else entirely. I could imagine the way his pride stung with the admission; I had heard the way some spoke of those assassins with a similar story, and it was not often kind. “Al Mualim thought it would be better if I lied, and I did not care enough either way to protest.”

                “That is why you use the name you do, then?” I turned my eyes back to him, and his lips twitched faintly.

                “Altair I chose myself, when I was young, so that I could be distinguished from all the others called ‘boy’ for lack of anything else to call them. Al Mualim was the one who called me Ibn-La’Ahad; I liked it well enough, so I began to use them both.” He said it lightly, but there was a shadow to it, hiding beneath. I did not draw attention to it directly, but still my curiosity wasn’t sated.

                “Why were you recruited from there? I can see few ways that life in such a place would lend itself to contact with Assassins, or to ways to show off skills that would make you a good choice to be one.” He offered a laugh, pale and vaguely discomforted.

                “I was not recruited from there. I left, became a thief; I had a very light hand and quick feet, was good at free running and did not really care if I was hurt some when I did it. Al Mualim found me on a visit to the city, after I stole his purse from his belt. I was thirteen at the time; he took me to Masyaf and I have called myself an Assassin since.” The story hurt him some, I knew that; anyone could see that Al Mualim had likely been the closest thing to a father that he had, and his betrayal had burned him more than most.

                “Why leave the home?” I asked, not expecting an answer and not really getting one.

                “I simply left. There was not really a reason, beyond boredom; so little happened there, after all, and I heard much of the city’s excitement.” I did not pry anymore, beyond to ask if the home had had a name, which it did not. The best he could tell me was that it was a large, off-white building near the center of the poor district. I was a little curious as to why he did not know why I wished to know that, but then again, he had never been suspicious of me since we’d made our amends; I expected that I was one of the few who could easily kill him, should I have the mind to do it. I sometimes half-thought he believed that I yet had the right. We sat in companionable silence for a while, the only sound being the scrape of my quill upon paper and the birds singing in the other room.

                “Well, novice,” I began, after an hour or more had passed, “It looks to be getting dark out. I expect you should go find your target and return to Masyaf, before everyone there begins worrying they will have to appoint me master and suffer my wrath in all the cities rather than just Jerusalem.” He laughed, real this time and a bit rough sounding for how little he used it, and drew himself to his feet, taking the feather from the table and leaving the bureau. Not a half hour after I heard him jump from the roof, I left myself, riding swiftly from the city on the horse I kept stabled in the outskirts of the city, towards Damascus.

* * *

 

                To be honest, I did not care too much for Damascus as a whole, and I cared even less for the poor district. There were more beggars there than I was used to, crowding the streets and often elbowing one another and hissing out arguments over the more populated areas of the street. Still, they bothered me little, upon getting a good look at me and my particular… condition; after all, I knew that I was the exception rather than the rule in regards to my wealth. Chances were they knew someone with a similar injury in far worse shape than they, and did not want to impose upon me.

                Rather, it was the guards who truly bothered me, if for the same reason; after all, what could a one-armed man be but weak, easy prey? They pushed me and shoved me often, like cruel children, and I fought the urge to draw my blade on them, too unwilling to draw attention to myself as an Assassin when I was there to find secrets I knew I would discover nowhere else. It took ages of circling around the boy’s home, which I found only by mere luck, before they let me alone long enough that I could knock on the door.

                An older woman answered, grim-faced, her skin sallow and her eyes cold. She gripped the doorframe tightly, almost like a threat, jagged, sharp looking nails scraping at the wood. She put me on edge, I could admit that, but she did not frighten me in the least; I’d seen far worse, after all.

                “What do you want?” she asked me, “You are too old to stay here.” She didn’t shy away from looking at the empty place where my arm should’ve been, as many did; in a way, I might’ve appreciated that if not for the fact that she simply replaced looking away with staring. I nodded.

                “I realize. I am looking for a man who I believe might have grown up here. I only wished to see if perhaps you recalled him, and if you knew where he’d ended up. He is my brother, you see; I wanted to reunite with him, if I could.” She looked suspicious, glancing around behind me as if expecting an ambush, and, seeing nothing, stepped aside to allow me inside.

                The house was dirty, but then I had expected that. So too did it seem ill-maintained, but it was not much worse than anything else I’d seen in this part of the city. A few younger boys played together on the floor, dirty and too thin, some cut or bruised in places, but I knew how easily that could all be explained. The woman jerked her head at them and they scrambled to their feet, scampering out of the room as if chased by devils.

                “What are you looking for?” she asked, a bit gruff, arms crossed. A strange way to ask, but I decided not to question it too heavily.

                “He went by the name of Altair,” I began, preparing to list some of his more notable physical characteristics if the name rang no bells, but she cut me off with a loud, hoarse laugh.

                “You were serious?” she asked, shaking her head bemusedly. “Strange man. Still, you are lucky; the little bird is one of the few I remember. He has striking eyes, does he not? Gold. I have not seen any with similar eyes since then. And such a pretty face, too!” She laughed again, just as loud, settling in an old, creaking chair. She offered me one across from her, and I took it; if I was lucky, she would have something useful to tell me and I would be here for a while. It was odd, though, hearing her call him a “little bird” when so many now called him an eagle, the eagle of Masyaf, and odder still to think that this was where he had begun.

                “Yes, that is him. I saw him but a few times when he was young, but was only able to figure out recently that he was put here.” She didn’t react. I wondered if she knew that I was lying about my relationship to him, somehow.

                “Your mother must have truly had no need for a second child, for he looked scarcely born when he appeared at my door.” I nodded.

                “We were very poor; she died many years ago, but I am better off now, and I would like to help him, if I can find him to help. Do you have the faintest idea of where he might be?” Her brow furrowed, long-fingered hands settling atop one another primly upon her lap.

                “I don’t; I know only that his running away lost me quite a lot of money, and gained me more than one obnoxious visitor.” I frowned, settling my own remaining hand on my lap and crossing my legs.

                “I do not understand,” I said, and she gave me a look that showed very clearly the less pleasant thoughts she had of me.

                “Do not play dumb with me, you are not the first to come to me to try and find him, and I am sure you are far from the wealthiest and equally far from the most persistent. The one he was meant to go to still comes every month to see if he has returned, and will take no other.” Slowly, the truth of what she thought dawned on me, the knowledge a dark, angry shock. She sold boys, had planned to sell Altair; I wondered how he’d learned of his fate and escaped, just as I wondered who would want him badly enough to come here so often on the distant chance that he came back.

                “I was not playing dumb, but now I do understand. I am glad that he ran; I am sure the others you hold here have more than made up for the lost profit.” She did not react with anger or shame, instead only shrugging, a grin splitting her lips for but a moment before she settled again.

                “Perhaps. Still, the visitors are quite annoying; when he was old enough, word spread quickly of the beautiful, golden-eyed boy I had here. Many came for the chance, and many still come from far away, hoping that I have caught him again somehow. He would be a grown man now, though, would he not? And probably not so beautiful anymore. He who offered the most for him is still the worst, though; every month it is the same, a knock on my door and an earnest gaze. ‘Has my bird flown back?’ he asks, and always I say no and always he insists upon searching the place as if I would hide him.” In any other situation, I might have been amused by the put-upon expression she wore, but as it stood, I only felt vaguely ill.

                Altair was not perfect, and never would be. Though not as bad as he once was, he was yet prideful, and he was easily as reckless as a novice depending on the situation, but I was not blind to his better attributes. He was bright, incredibly so when given the opportunity to show it, and very kind; I did not doubt that he would give over his life for me, just as I did not doubt that the guilt of what happened in Solomon’s Temple still ate at him whenever he looked at me. I would also not deny his beauty; many pointed it out in whispers, when they thought I would not hear and when he was nowhere to be found. I liked him; he was my friend, perhaps the best one I had left. He did not deserve to be treated as a piece of cattle; even in my rage, when I wished for his blood to be spilled, I would not have wished that upon him.

                “Do you know where I might find this man?” I asked, my voice quiet and deceptively calm. She thought for a moment.

                “He won’t be able to tell you where he is, else he wouldn’t come bothering me every month. Still, I can see you are determined, stranger, and perhaps you might convince him to stay away from here. His name is Adib Naifeh; he lives in the rich district, but I do not know exactly where. Ask around and you will find him quickly enough. I am sure he has enough of a reputation.” I nodded, standing and preparing to leave, but she stopped me with her voice. “And I’d be careful if I were you; show too much interest in his little bird, and I don’t think he’d hesitate to cut you down, crippled though you are.” I gritted my teeth, willing myself not to respond and instead leaving the filthy place as quickly as I was able. If, when I returned to Jerusalem, I sent a small team of my Assassins to deal with her and make certain that the boys were sent to a safe place, it was no one’s business but my own.

* * *

 

                The rich district, at least, had fewer beggars, but the guards were certainly no better; if anything, I thought they might have been worse, harassing me each time I tried to ask the merchants where I might find the man I sought. Eventually, though, I finally managed to evade them long enough to get a direct answer from one of the merchants despite the shrewd look he gave me when I asked. I walked swiftly through the town, not entirely certain what I planned to do but knowing well enough that it wasn’t wise no matter the plan, until at last I reached the place the merchant had sent me.

                It truly was a lovely building; for all the squalor of Damascus’ poor district, the wealthy one was truly extravagant, beautiful in every way, and this home only epitomized that beauty. I rapped on the door with my knuckles. The man who answered was younger than I expected, though still easily older than Altair and myself, thick streaks of gray obvious in his beard and his hair. He was dressed finely, his wealth displayed in every line of both them and his stance. He wore a ring with an amber stone on one hand; the color reminded me of Altair’s stare and I wondered if that was why he wore it.

                “Do you know of a man named Altair?” I asked him before he could even do so much as greet me or ask who I was and why I’d come. He stiffened for a moment, obvious and stark, before his face softened with a sick sort of warmth and his lips tilted up into a smile.

                “Why do you ask? If you are another who wishes to have him, then I cannot help you, for my dear bird flew his nest many years ago, and even if not, he is not the sort one ought to share.” Anger curled in my heart, deep and seething; I had not felt such anger in a long time and wasn’t particularly happy to recall the feeling.

                “He was never your bird,” I said, sharp and quick, “he is an eagle of the world.” Son of none, wild and free with unrivaled skill, that is him, not the vision this man had so obviously created of a songbird in a cage. His stare darkened.

                “I do not appreciate being spoken to thusly in my own home. You know nothing of my bird; do not pretend as if you do.” He tried to shut the door on me; I stuck my boot in it, shouldering my way inside. He looked ready to call for someone, likely a personal guard, but I settled my hand over his mouth quickly and thought of how simple it would be to kill him, for he was certainly no innocent. He seemed faintly startled by my strength, jerking and trying to slip away while I only walked him backwards to pin him against the wall.

                “I know Altair better than any, do not ever doubt that. He is a very good friend of mine; I came here that I might learn of his past before he knew me, for he does not speak of it.” I felt him stiffen, a desperate sort of longing filling his eyes as he tried to speak. I let him; even if he cried out, I knew well enough that I could kill him and leave before anyone reached us.

                “He yet lives? Where is he? Why did he run from me?” he asked, the desperation in his eyes only darkening, and I could not resist a laugh.

                “He lives indeed, strong and proud at my order’s head. He is not the type to be another’s pet.” He did not back down, did not look even the slightest bit ashamed.

                “Bring him to me! I will show him that I love him now as I did then!” I left my lips curl into a wicked smirk, as dark and as threatening as I could make it.

                “Love? You call it love? All you did was see a pretty face and buy it, like any common man might in a brothel; the only difference is that you bought it permanently. You have never even spoken to him. You know _nothing_ of him.” He looked appalled that I could even say such a thing, jerking under the pressure of my hand. All I had to do was slide it up so very slightly, put pressure on his throat, and he would die. It would be so simple. I realized from the next words he spoke that I did not want him to die _simply_.

                “No! I spoke with him often, nearly every night! The matron, I paid her extra so that I might spend nights with him before he came to live with me!” It was his fault. He was the reason why Altair flinched from touch, why he seemed so against getting close to anyone. _It was his fault._

                “You took a boy who could not resist you and he was so disgusted at your touch that he fled. I do not see how you could delude yourself into thinking that that is love. Still, perhaps I should bring him here; he is no helpless boy anymore, but a man. I am sure you will be glad to know that he has even found another to wipe your touch from his skin.” He thrashed, desperation sharpening into rage, but I only pressed forward more firmly, far stronger than he could ever hope to be.

                “Who?” he hissed, “Who has taken my bird?” I laughed, letting my eyes go lidded, my smirk soften to a fond smile.

                “He is my lover, and I am his,” I answered, voice low, the lie slipping from my mouth like honey. I knew well enough that it was wrong to claim, but I wanted this man to suffer as much as possible, and I knew that making this claim would certainly help. The thrashing increased, rage darkening his gaze even further.

                “He would not! Not with you, barely more than half a man!” he cried, staring at my incomplete side, flashing his teeth, and I could only laugh.

                “You judge so harshly! He is missing a finger now, you know,” I said, pressing my missing shoulder against his chest so that I could draw my knife, run it over his ring finger of his left hand. “This one, right here. Shall I take yours, so that you might share something with him?” I spoke lightly, felt him tense, jerk his hand away from the blade, and I let a falsely saccharine glaze drip over my smile.

                “Let go of me,” he said, “Let go of me and bring me my bird.”

                “Ah, but I was only trying to bring you closer to him! Still, you are right; a finger is not enough, is it? A finger is nothing, even he would say so; many of my order have lost that.” Slowly, careful to press in the blade enough that he could feel it without blood being drawn, I dragged the knife up to settle just below his shoulder, where my own arm had been severed. “Perhaps I’ll take this much instead, hm? After all, he fell in love with a one-armed man; if he loved you so well before, surely you could win him back if you were the same as I.”A little pressure, his fine clothes tearing easily beneath the deadly edge of my knife, blood spilling from the wound like a river. He cried out; his skin was smooth and unblemished. I expected he’d never had more than a scrape, if that. Even if I didn’t kill him, this would most definitely scar.

                “Stop! Do not do this, demon!” That actually did amuse me; the choked laugh that spilled from my lips then was real, and I cut it off as quickly as I was able. It was not the first time I’d been called a demon, nor even the first time that the word had been applied without any humor. Apparently it was harder than I’d imagined to believe a man with an injury like mine could still be strong, but I had practiced nearly every night with my sword after I’d healed enough that I didn’t start to bleed every time I moved. By now I handled it perhaps even more aptly than I had before the injury. I could still climb, though not quite as far or as high, nor in as many places, but it was enough and I’d never had much use for free running anyway. My knife, of course, was as simple to use as ever. I was no slower, no clumsier, my maps just as skillfully drawn as ever. I was still an assassin.

                “While I appreciate the compliment, I am afraid that I am only a man. I do not think, however, that you understand the hurt you have caused Altair; he feared becoming close to anyone for a very long time because of you.” I pressed the knife harder, digging a little deeper into the flesh. He keened. “You know, the more I think of it, the more I realize that I do not want your arm. After all, a man so weak as you could surely not manage to live without that.” I lifted the knife, still pressing my own shoulder firmly against his sternum, him still trying to push me away.

                “Thank you,” he breathed, and I chuckled.

                “You are a gracious man after all! Still, even if I do not want your arm, that does not mean that I want nothing, now does it? But why now? No, this is something to be _savored._ I think that for now you should just come with me,” I said, tucking away the knife and curling my hand about his bicep. Again he tried to pull away. Again I did not allow it. He tried to call for someone while I dragged him to the door, and I heard pounding footsteps from deep within the house, but I had already gotten him out and into the thrumming mass of people before anyone reached the main room where we’d been. As I’d said, I was still an assassin; he had no chance to escape.

* * *

 

          I bought a new horse on the outskirts of the city and bound him to it for the ride back to Jerusalem. He cursed and swore at me the whole way, but beyond he added mentions of “his bird” it was nothing I’d never heard before. If anything, it only amused me, truly, that he thought anyone on the way to Jerusalem or even in Jerusalem itself would care to do anything for him. The guards there knew me well, after all; they, at least, were under no delusions that my injury made me weak.

                I stabled both the horses where once I’d kept only my own and kept a hard grip on the man’s arm, leading him the Bureau and forcing him to climb inside with my knife at his back. He still nearly slipped more than once, only barely managing to catch himself every time. I did nothing to aid him; he would die one way or another anyway, and truly if it happened because he fell onto my knife, I cared little. Still, it did not; he made it to the roof and I pushed him inside, following after as quickly as I was able and hauling him up by the back of his shirt as he looked to be attempting to crawl away. He struggled again, as if he hadn’t learned the futility of it, and I brought him to a small room hidden behind my shelves, kept for interrogation purposes.

                For a while, I only watched him from the door, hoping to unnerve him and obviously succeeding, given the way he shifted warily, stare fixed on me. I smiled, faint but pleased with myself.

                “What are you going to do to me?” he finally asked, and my smile widened.

                “I do not know yet. That, I’m afraid, depends on what you did to Altair. For now, though, I think that it would be best if you simply remained here.” With that, I turned and left, closing the room behind me and shifting the shelf back into to place so that it remained that way.

                I had to wait a while for any payoff; Altair, after all, was not free to visit often unless a particularly important figure arose that he trusted only himself to deal with. I did not speak to the man in that time, choosing instead to slip him food in silence and leave him alone again. Periodically he would still beat the wall, though generally he only did that when he heard someone else in the Bureau, though they all assumed that I was merely using the room for its intended purpose and interrogating someone within. Still, my anger for him stewed steadily; he called for Altair often, generally whenever he was not begging me to release him, and I hated his nerve, the mere idea that he thought Altair had ever cared for him.

                Truly I did not enjoy the feeling. I had been angry for a very long time and it had done me no favors, after all, yet still I couldn’t seem to fight against it. All lessons I’d had about not killing in anger flooded my mind constantly, but I swept them away. Every death at an Assassin’s hand was fueled by anger, I’d learned that long ago; the only difference was that it was a cold, calculated anger rather than a burning sort. My anger towards this man was not burning; he was just another feather, truly, only one that had not yet been issued. He deserved all that came to him.

                When Altair returned perhaps two weeks later, this time just to visit me rather than complete a contract, I was glad that perhaps the game could finally come to an end. I greeted him with a smile that he returned, if only faintly, and went with him to settle on the cushions in the other room. He seemed tired, but then I expected his new position was not an easy one.

                “Safety and peace, Malik,” he murmured, voice faintly hoarse, “I am glad to see you again.”

                “I wish you the same and share the sentiment, Altair. Does this day find you well?” He closed his eyes, leaning back against the cushions and pushing his hood back so I could see his face without the obscuring shadow.

                “Well enough. There were some troubles at Masyaf, else I’d have come to visit again sooner. I think it might’ve been better had you been there,” he said, lips twitching, “After all, I am but a novice, and an incompetent one at that, correct? Truly you should’ve been the master, Malik.” I laughed.

                “Do you want something, Altair? You flatter me, after all.” He grinned, wide, the silvery scar across his lips stretching with it. He looked younger like that, more, perhaps, like his own age, unfettered by his past and his duties. I wished he was able to look that way more often and wondered if, had things been different, this could have been the Altair I knew all the time.

                “You wound me, Malik! Can a man not compliment his friends without suspicion?”

                “Oh, he can, certainly, but you? I am not so certain about you.”

                “And now you say that I am not even a man! You are very good at making people regret speaking honestly, you know.” And that, of course, reminded me of why I’d thought it so urgent that he return, though I almost wished it didn’t. After all, the friendly banter we shared was far preferable to what I knew we needed to discuss.

                “I hope you don’t regret it too terribly, Altair. I went to Damascus not long ago, found the place where you stayed. It is simple to see why you left; I had the place dealt with, in any case. Still, forgive me if I overstep my bounds, but I would like to know more of that time. I think that perhaps talking about it might help you.” He stiffened at the words, doubtless regretting describing where the place was located, expression darkening. I saw his hands twitch towards his hood, but he stopped himself at the last moment, forcing his breathing to remain steady and his face to become flat and emotionless once again.

                “No. I am glad that you were able to deal with it for the boys still there, as I heard what happened to many who found a ‘home,’ but I left only because of those rumors, not any suffering.” His face was cool, but his eyes stayed closed, for he knew that they would betray him to me.  I frowned, settling my arm across my stomach and leaning back some myself, trying to make myself appear as relaxed as possible so that he would, perhaps, relax as well.

                “Do you trust me so little after everything, Altair?” Pain flashed in his face for a moment, and he shook his head.

                “I trust you with everything, Malik, never doubt that. This, though… this is my burden, and it is not something I enjoy speaking about.”

                “We are brothers, Altair; we are meant to share in our burdens, to make them lighter. I imagine you have not spoken of this since it happened, have you? I will not think you any weaker if I know; you survived whatever happened. That only tells me that you are strong.” He swallowed, closing his eyes more firmly and making a concentrated effort to keep his face indifferent.

                “It never leaves this room. Do you swear that, Malik?”

                “Of course. Whatever you say will follow me to my grave.” He nodded; I stood and closed the entrance to the Bureau, knowing that I had no contracts out over the city on that particular day and so not expecting anyone to come by. After all, he was trusting me with much, and I did not want to prove unworthy of that by way of carelessness; even if someone came by, he would be warned enough in advance to stop speaking before they could hear.

                “Alright. I do not know if I can say it all today, but… some, at least. You know the… profession of the woman who runs the home, yes? I’m sure you do, else you would not have acted. She… I would not say that she has morals, exactly, but she does have some things that she will not do,” he said, quiet, his voice faraway and still hoarse.

                “Do you want something to drink,” I asked as he paused, and he shook his head in response. “In any case, she didn’t seem as if there were anything too cold for her to do.” He managed a laugh, almost bitter but not angry. I supposed he’d gotten over that.

                “It wasn’t much, and perhaps she had even stopped doing this, I do not know. She would not sell a boy before he turned seven, sometimes a bit older if he was very small. She did… market them before that, though, especially if there was something strange about them. She told everyone who she thought might hold some interest of the odd, golden-eyed boy she’d been given, and would often take me out to the markets with her so that people could see that she spoke truthfully. I was treated better than the other boys because she was already getting offers for me; she did not want me to get sick or die before she could collect. I always found it strange that the other boys, especially the older ones, were not angry that she treated me so much better.” His voice drifted, some, eyes slowly opening as if he wanted me to see that he spoke the truth. I edged nearer to him, settling my hand on his arm, and he leaned into the comfort.

                “Why?” I asked, soft, though I did suspect.

                “I wondered the same thing myself, even asked them about it once. They said that they knew what happened to the boys who were treated better. They _pitied_ me. That was when I began to fear my fate; I begged them to tell me what they meant by that, but they could not speak with me frankly as they worried over what would happen to them if they told me something that made me run. A few tried to help as much as they could, taught me how to fight and how to steal, and I’d share the extra I was given in return for the aid. It was a false security, of course, but comforting when, one morning, I was brought into the front room of the home to be paraded around like an animal.” He almost spat the words, and I realized that under the bitterness there was yet some anger; he had not gotten over this, no matter what I might have thought before.

                I didn’t think I could imagine exactly how that had felt for him; his freedom defined him and I expected that that had always been the case, though now at least he knew how to be free without harming others. To be in such a situation, little more than an object to be bought and sold… it had to have been akin to torture, for him.

                “Why do that when she could just as easily make the sale to the highest bidder without you even knowing her plan?” I questioned, and his face twisted into something like a sneer in response.

                “To prove I looked how she described. She would let the walk up to me and prod at my face, stare at my eyes as if they were false. I bit at them, kicked and scratched when I could, but they only found it _funny._ The man who offered her the most was named Adib Naifeh, but I was perhaps three months off from turning seven and that was one rule she never broke. He offered her more money, begging to be allowed to take me that day, but she refused. Eventually, though, she agreed that, for some of the extra money, he could come visit me as often as he liked. She had me bring him to the room where I slept, apart from the other boys. He stroked my cheek, told me that I had a beautiful face, other nonsense like that, as if he thought I would _enjoy_ the words. It made me sick, that I could not fight. I nearly wept with relief when he left not long after.” Again, I could imagine as much; an eagle could not be made to love by pretty words alone.

                My hand slid up his arm, then, to settle on his cheek, as if wishing to replace the touch that made him feel so helpless with one to make him strong. He did not flinch away, rather only let a deep, shuddering breath fall from his lips.

                “You are not weak, Altair,” I whispered, and he took another deep breath, settling his own hand atop mine where it rested on his face, a small but real smile curling his lips.

                “Thank you, Malik. I think that you were perhaps right about this helping,” he said, and I chuckled.

                “Of course I was. When have you known me to be wrong, novice?” He laughed.

                “Yes, yes, you are nigh on psychic, Malik, I understand. Still, forgive me if I say no more tonight. I… think that perhaps I need to gather my thoughts first.”

                “Certainly. Come, let’s fetch something to eat, shall we? Ah, and please ignore any noise; I was brought a contract for interrogation not long ago and he is rather… obnoxious. Keeps calling for some bird he kept as a pet before one of my teams got him.” He didn’t question it, given that he had long ago accepted the eccentricity of many of our targets.

                “Perhaps we should go patronize a market stall instead, then, and bring something back to eat in here. I’m sure you’ve long tired of listening to him, after all.” I had, if not for the reason he thought, and so I agreed readily. All in all I felt it a pleasant day, and when, early the next morning, he had to return to Masyaf, I was rather depressed. Only the idea that I could finally start making the bastard pay for what he’d done to Altair was enough to make me smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, if you couldn't tell, I'm trying to make up for being gone so long by posting a bunch this week, since I have time. Anyway, there's probably just going to be one more chapter of this after this one, so I hope you guys enjoy!

                I did not go to him early in the morning, though I wished to desperately. Rather, I did what I had to for the day, drew maps and gave feathers and tore through the egos of novices who thought they were masters simply because they’d slit a throat and not been seen. All the while, I stewed in the lingering anger, felt it turn deep and bitter and wicked. By the end of the evening, my hand itched to hurt, and I could hardly keep my breath steady as I curled my hand around my blade and stood, shouldering open the hidden door.

                The man tried to run at first, of course; I stopped him with a well-placed kick to the stomach that sent him sprawling. I almost scoffed; Altair would hardly have flinched against such a blow, even without his armor. Still, his weakness gave me a chance to lay down the knife and fetch the lantern, which was promptly placed in the corner where it would give me just enough light to see him with the door closed, and then fetch the knife again, which was quickly pressed against his neck when he looked to be preparing for another attack, however unwise.

                He stiffened, cursed and swore as he ever did, until I told him to be silent, said that I had thought at last of what I wished to do to him in recompense for what he had done to Altair. He scoffed at that, flashing teeth as if he frightened me.

                “You can do nothing to truly hurt me because I know that I did nothing wrong,” he spat, and whatever tenuous control remained in me snapped like a dry branch.

                “An eye for an eye,” I hissed, “Every touch you forced upon him will come back to you, physical scars to match those upon his mind and his heart. Today, I do not know much, and so I cannot do much, however I seem to recall him mentioning to me how sick your hand upon his cheek made him feel.” I settled the blade on his face, right at the corner of his eye where the skin was soft and thin. I felt him stiffen, felt the fear pounding in his blood, and smiled.

                “No,” he said, but I do not know whether he was referring to what I’d said or what I’d do.

                “No? Why should I listen to your pleas when you surely ignored Altair’s, hm? After all, we are both animals, you and I, only animals of a different sort, and I fear that my teeth are far sharper than yours.”

                “Bring him here,” he said, quick, almost desperate, trying to turn his eyes to the shine of my blade, “Bring him here and he will tell you that he does not want you to do this to me.” I only laughed.

                “Oh, you will see him eventually, my friend, I assure you of that. Perhaps I will even give him the pleasure of being the one to end your wretched life.” With that, I dragged the blade down, from the corner of his eye to his chin, quick and firm, and he cried out. Pleased though I was, I turned and made my way to the door at that, carefully holding the lantern and the knife both in my hand as I shouldered it open. I did not think, then, that I could trust myself not to kill him if I tried to do anything more. He cried out again. I closed the door firmly behind me at the sound, and waited a while before I sent in a novice to clean his wound. I couldn’t, after all, allow something as simple as an infection to kill him.

* * *

 

                It took some time before Altair was able to come to Jerusalem again, but I did not blame him for that. I knew what being the Master of an order like ours entailed, after all; I doubted he was even sleeping for all the work that had to be done, truly. I wished for a quick moment that I could have been there to help him, but no; he’d promoted me to his second, yes, but my place was still in Jerusalem. In a way, I supposed I’d grown attached; I couldn’t stand the idea of handing my place over to another who would almost certainly have not the faintest idea what they were doing.

                Still, I was unspeakably glad when, one morning, he did appear, though he was not alone. Behind him, like ducklings, trailed a small cluster of young men who had almost certainly only just begun their true training. There was a lingering uncertainty to them, after all, a stumble in the way they caught themselves when they dropped into the Bureau, and the white of their robes was still bright and pure rather than faintly gray as they became after a few years of work. In addition, they looked absolutely terrified at the sight of me. I raised an eyebrow, settling my protractor back atop the small map I’d been drawing, and barely resisted a chuckle at the way they tried to make themselves invisible behind Altair.

                “Altair, should I even bother asking why you’ve flooded my Bureau with novices, or should I simply assume you wish me to babysit them for you?” I made myself sound as aggrieved as possible, and he allowed himself a soft chuckle before he flattened his voice back to the strength and monotony expected of him.

                “While I’m sure that they would surely adore the opportunity to spend an extended amount of time with you, Malik, I’m afraid not. I had thought that perhaps it would be beneficial to them to meet the Bureau leaders in the cities they will most often frequent, and to learn the layout of those cities, before they began to go on missions. This is their last stop before we return to Masyaf.” It was a good idea, though I didn’t say as much; after all, if ever any of the novices caught me complimenting their Grandmaster, who most of them assumed I despised simply because of the familiar way I spoke to him, I would surely lose my reputation as the most feared of the Rafiqs.

                “Hm,” I said instead, “Have you been testing them?” He nodded.

                “I have, and with your maps, too, if you wish to be more assured that they are really learning the city rather than simply spending the day in it. You can see for yourself when they return,” he said, waving a hand lightly and sending them scrambling for the gate to leave the Bureau. I was almost certain that I heard every last one of them breathing a sigh of relief. Altair started laughing, loud and open and free, the moment we heard them jump from the Bureau roof to the next building over. My own lips tilted into a faint, simple smile in response; the both of us knew this song and dance very well.

                “What is so funny, Altair?” I asked, and he shook his head.

                “You. Do you have any idea for how long they begged me to skip Jerusalem? How in the world do you have such a reputation among novices who have not even met you?”

                “Ah, you know the older novices talk. It is not my fault that they do not know how to do their jobs, however; if anything, they should blame you for me scolding them, but then, what should I expect from novices being taught by a novice?” I smiled when I said it, kept my voice light to let him know for sure that I did not mean what I said, as if it were even necessary anymore. It was our dynamic, the simple way we worked; generally, it was when I did not tease him that he thought something was wrong. “Have you eaten yet, by the way? I’m sure you scarcely have time for such simple things anymore.” His smile softened some as he shook his head, and I bit back the urge to scold him for that.

                “You’re quite right. In any case, I would have had something today, but Marid did not pack enough food for the trip and so I gave what I had for this morning to him and told him to buy enough to get back to Masyaf while he was out.” Of course he had. Altair had a certain soft spot for the younger novices, I knew that; he was more lenient with them than was perhaps wise, and spoke to them with a gentle tongue that he otherwise only used to speak to animals, which he also had a soft spot for, though that was admitted less often. Had the boy been perhaps five years older, he’d have been scolded for his foolishness and gone hungry for the day; I wondered if he knew how lucky he was and sighed.

                “Then you’re lucky I’ve enough to share. Go, sit, and I’ll fetch something.” He nodded and for once did as I asked without complaining that he could get it himself, settling on the pillows and relaxing for probably the first time in more than a week. When he smelled the food I brought, I think he might’ve softened even further, somehow, pushing his hood back and smiling, taking it from my hand with a grateful nod.

                He started eating slowly, with something like reverence, and I didn’t interrupt, only taking a little every now and then when he insisted, until at last there was nothing left and he let out a quiet, pleased sigh. A few more minutes passed in silence, myself unwilling to make him talk if he didn’t wish to say anything. Finally, though, he spoke, low and almost wary.

                “Have you ever wondered where I got this?” he asked, gesturing to the silvery scar that stretched across his lips.

                “I suppose I have, but even in your ego you were never one to brag about battle scars.” He laughed at that, though I didn’t quite get the joke.

                “This is anything but a battle scar, my friend. I received it willingly; at the time, I was upset that the one who did it didn’t do worse.” Admittedly, that did surprise me; Altair was reckless even now, but even still he wasn’t one to actively seek pain.

                “Why is that?” I asked, soft, and he smiled.

                “After he left the first night, all I could hear was him calling me beautiful, and I was desperate to make him not want me anymore. I thought that if I cut my face, damaged what he thought was beautiful, he would take his money back and leave me be. I tried to do it myself, first, but I couldn’t get at anything sharp; I assume the lady feared that I would end my life if I did. I started asking the other boys to beat me, then, swore that I wouldn’t let anyone know who’d done it, but most of them were still too frightened of retribution to do it. I could only convince one, who had been the guiltiest over my fate, to try. Even he could only bring himself to hit me once, hard enough to do this and nothing more,” he said, touching the scar again.

                “I assume it didn’t work?” I asked, and he laughed.

                “No. He came again the next day and saw it, but he only acted worried, as if he truly cared that I was hurt. He swore that I was still beautiful and kissed me and I could have killed him for that. Had I been any older or any stronger, I’m sure I would have. As it stood, I only bit him; he thought I was trying to be _playful.”_ I settled my hand atop his and he only jerked once with surprise before he settled into it, letting out another heavy breath and leaning faintly closer to me.

                “You know that the blame doesn’t lie with you, don’t you?” I murmured, quiet, meeting his eyes with ease even as his nerves seemed to eat away at him. That was a core teaching of the order, given how many women came to join our order after a similar event or a marriage she didn’t wish, but I feared that Altair was the sort who would think it was intended for others rather than himself.

                “I do, Malik, but it does not make me feel less…,” he paused. There were a million ways he could have ended that statement, and I think he was realizing that as well. Finally, though, he shook his head; I understood what he meant, and he knew that. “That day, though… it was worse than later. Later, at least I could pretend that I was elsewhere. I did not have to think about it. He made me talk to him, that day, about things I liked, things I didn’t, how I’d ended up in the boy’s home as if I would know, a million things. I couldn’t ignore him.” I heard the anger in his voice, the disgust, an old desperation he probably didn’t notice welling from the cracks, and squeezed his hand.

                “Do you trust me, Altair?” I murmured, and he looked aghast, as if he could not believe that I had to ask.

                “More than anyone, Malik, and not only with my life. If I did not, I wouldn’t be telling you this.” I nodded.

                “I feel the same towards you, Altair. You are my best friend, as much as that might surprise you. In a way, though, I don’t know much of you and you don’t know much of me; I know how you fight and I know how to make you laugh but I know very little about you that a friend might be expected to know, and I would assume that you’re quite the same.” He smiled, then, small and almost painfully bright, face alight with pleasure.

                “Let’s talk, then. We get very little time for that.” I nodded and then he asked some inane little thing and after my answer, I did the same.

                He liked to eat sweet things, often more than more substantial foods. He spent many nights tinkering with armor and weapon plans, trying to make the order better than it had been. He hated wearing his Grandmaster’s robes because they were so heavy, and made of rougher fabric than what he’d worn before. Diplomacy still eluded him; he was very certain that he’d somehow managed to offend everyone he’d had to meet with since becoming the Grandmaster. He had a bird that lived in a tall tree outside his bedroom window, and it had almost become a pet to him because he fed it every morning he was there, and had something left for it when he was not. He missed sparring because no one was willing to do it with him anymore. For a few hours, settled beside me in the half-light of my Bureau, he showed me that he was human, and I showed him the same.

                I kept my hand settled over one of his the whole while, listening to the rustle of the wind and the muted voices of the citizens outside. It had been a very long time since I was so comfortable in the presence of another, truly, and it had been just as long since I’d felt so unattainably happy. As warm silence fell over us again, though, I felt Altair tug my hand lightly, obviously wanting me to face him, and so I did.

                “Malik,” he murmured, “Malik, I would not… I know that this is a wrong sort of thing to ask, especially after all that had happened between us, and I am truly, deeply glad of your friendship, but I would… like to kiss you. Don’t feel as if you must agree, please, you have no obligation to me, but-,” I stopped him with a laugh, shaking my head, squeezing his hand again.

                “Altair, you are the Grandmaster; for that, you have my loyalty and my trust that you deserve it. As my friend, you have my affection and my companionship. I realize that I have no obligation to romance. What I must ask, however, is if you realize the same.” Confusion painted his expression.

                “What do you mean?” he asked, and I sighed.

                “You never stopped viewing me with guilt in your eyes despite my forgiveness. You’ve offered me your life before, Altair; of course I fear that perhaps it is your guilt rather than you who asks for this as well.” He frowned, then, deep and firm, shaking his head.

                “No. I am tired of being afraid, Malik. He has owned this part of me for years, and I wish to have it for myself again. I trust you more than I trust anyone else, and I care for you the same. I wouldn’t ask you for this out of guilt; if you do not wish to, you must only say so.” The depth of his ability to ignore the obvious still astounded me, even after so very long. He looked painfully serious. I raised my hand, settling it softly on the curve of his jaw, thumb stroking the soft skin under his eye.

                “You are a fool,” I murmured, and he let out a heavy breath. “Purely and simply. That is the only explanation for how you could not see.”

                “See what?” he asked, voice low and a little rough.

                “What I have begun to feel for you. Ever since I began to see beyond my envy and my anger, Altair, I think that I have been growing to love you.” With those words, he jerked forward, lips pressing clumsily to mine, his eyes tightly closed as if fearing my reaction, and his arms wound tightly around my midsection. I did not respond immediately, I can admit, too surprised by the suddenness of it to really react, but a moment was all I required to involve myself fully.

                He let me lead, following the motion of my lips with his own and letting me curl my hand loosely in his hair, keeping him close. It was a warm moment, soft and close, the press of his body hot and welcome against my own. Pulling away was a struggle, and I let myself linger as much as possible before I shifted back into my own space. A grin flashed across his face, quick as a lightning flash, as his eyes opened again, bright gold shimmering as if it were molten. I stroked his hair softly as I pulled my hand away, and he squeezed my sides as gently as he was able.

                Neither of us spoke; it was not necessary. After all, the both of us had proven more than once that our strengths did not lie in words. Instead, he simply took my hand again and we took comfort in one another, in the simple fact that we were together and we worked, however dysfunctional it could seem. In any case, we didn’t have long before his novices returned, each of them dropping into the Bureau with nervous energy flowing from them in nearly visible waves.

                It wasn’t necessary, really; they had performed their task well, and Altair even allowed me to administer the test that proved as much. They knew the name of and could describe every landmark I pointed to, how to get there from the bureau while attracting the least attention, and how to return in the same manner. So too could they point at a place on the map when I said the name; really it was quite impressive for only a day’s worth of exploration. I could see how pleased Altair was, in any case; the bright grin he hid the moment they turned to face him was proof enough.

                “You’ve done well, novices,” I said, keeping my voice level so as to not let them see that I too was impressed with them. “Perhaps if you continue to show such diligence you might be passable assassins one day.” They bowed. Altair settled a hand on two of their shoulders—the eldest, I expected, or perhaps the brightest.

                “Better than passable I’m sure, Malik. I do not doubt that they will each become Masters in their own right with time.” I snorted.

                “You’ve grown optimistic in your old age, Grandmaster; has a life behind a desk started to drain what precious little wit you once had?”

                “Ah, you’ve admitted that I have wit! We have progressed; soon you might even admit that we are friends where others can hear!” At that, I couldn’t hold back a faint smile. The novices looked as though their universe was crashing down.

                “I have always been astounded by the ability of a novice to delude himself so easily and readily. Now, away with you; I’ve actual work that needs to be done, and I am sick of babysitting you.” I saw him roll his eyes even if the novices didn’t.

                “Of course, Dai. Come, let us return to Masyaf.” He turned to go, and even I could admit to a little surprise at the one novice who didn’t immediately follow him.

                He was one of the younger ones in the group, thin and rangy in a way that suggested he had not been amongst the order for very long. I could feel a touch of arrogance on him even from across the room, and the others didn’t seem particularly surprised at his disobedience. Altair sighed.

                “Marid, come. I imagine that Rauf will want me back so that he can return to his own duties.” Ah, so this was the boy to whom Altair had given his breakfast. Perhaps he reminded him of himself at that age, judging by the way the almost haughty way the young man stood, the deep-set frown on his face.

                “I want to stay here for the night. I’ll come back on my own tomorrow.” Even I was a bit shocked at the gall of the child, to so blatantly go against his Grandmaster; not even Altair would have dared to do something like that, even at his proudest.

                “I can assure you that the Dai does not wish to spend the remainder of his evening looking after you, and in the same way I can assure that you do not wish to spend an evening with him when he is being forced to do something he does not wish to do.” I chuckled, let myself look as cold as I was able, my fingers drumming against the bureau desk.

                “Oh, I do not mind, Grandmaster,” I said, half-glaring down at the boy, and Altair shifted some, from one foot to the other, too light and too quick for the novices to really notice. “I am sure that I could teach much to one so insolent over the course of an evening.” The boy flinched a little, surely hoping it was too quick for the others to notice and tease him over. He didn’t take back his request, however; if nothing else, he was brave, though likely lacking the skill to back said bravery up. Altair only shrugged lightly, nodding his head.

                “Fine, I suppose. I’ll leave his horse tied at the city gates until morning; try to return him whole, if at all possible,” he said, and the boy looked somewhat astounded that Altair was agreeing. The fact that he was almost certainly doing this because of some sort of dare struck me suddenly; I could see how fervently he’d been hoping that Altair would say no and insist on him returning.

                “Really?” he asked, trying to keep the mask of bravado across his face, and Altair nodded.

                “I have no reason to refuse. I don’t deny that Malik could teach you much, and not only about obedience. Enjoy yourself—stay longer than a day if you wish it. Malik will send a bird saying when I might expect you. The rest of you, let’s go.” He swallowed stiffly, looking to me again, as if I would take back my statement simply because Altair had agreed. I didn’t. Altair led the other boys from the Bureau and was gone before he could beg to return with them. I let my eyebrows drift up. He shuffled from foot to foot. I barely resisted the urge to laugh, and instead kept my face firm and dark.

                “So, which of them dared you to spend a night with the beastly Dai?” I asked, and he went wide-eyed, surprise in every line of him.

                “How’d you know?” he asked, and I only rolled my eyes again.

                “Logic would dictate that I was once a novice as well, boy. I know well enough how they act, and I’ve known enough novices like you who were too prideful to refuse.”

                “Oh,” he said, eyes downcast to one side, unwilling to look me in the face any longer, “It was Ra’id. We’re friends.” I hummed.

                “I question the sort of friend who would ask one he should care for to disobey the orders of a man who could kill you with his eyes closed.” He squirmed. The bastard in the back room set to shouting again, as he often did when I spoke louder than was usual and he could hear my voice. I wondered how he could possibly still think that someone would release him. The boy squirmed more noticeably, surely horrified that it was another novice screaming in terror.

                “Who is that?” he asked, hurried and afraid, and I gestured for him to go to the cushions. He didn’t hesitate in listening.

                “Just a dog waiting to be put down,” I said, once we were away from the noise, and he swallowed stiffly. “Nothing for you to worry over.”

                “Okay. Anyway, Ra’id knows that the Grandmaster would not hurt me. He favors me,” he said, as if that were some sort of accomplishment, and I couldn’t resist a sharp laugh.

                “I can assure you that the only reason for that is your age; you are the youngest among that group, are you not? He has a bad habit of being far too soft on children. Even today, had you any hair growing on your chin, I can promise that you’d have gone hungry this morning.” He looked almost hurt; I expected he’d managed to get attached to Altair over the course of his training, and hadn’t noticed that the man treated him not much different from any other novice his age, or perhaps he was upset that Altair had told me what had happened that morning.

                “How would you know?” he grumbled, “You don’t even like him.”

                “Oh, yes, we despise each other. After all, why else would he appoint me his second in command, correct? Don’t be stupid; we are friends, and brothers in this order. In any case, he has seen the troubles favoritism brings. Even if he did care more for you, he would not show it.”

                “What troubles?” he asked, quiet, and I arched an eyebrow, shaking my head.

                “Do you know nothing of his rise to Grandmaster, of the one who came before him?” Embarrassment painted his face, but I didn’t entirely blame him for not knowing. I expected Altair had likely made it a point to keep all but the very basics of the situation out of the novices’ studies, surely seeing the rest as being too personal or too recent to be discussed like history. He squirmed, head down.

                “The… the last Grandmaster was named Rashid ad-Din Sinan. Grandmaster was appointed to the rank of Master Assassin younger than anyone else. He became the Grandmaster when Rashid ad-Din Sinan died, right?” Funny to hear it said so simply, with so much that had hurt so fiercely cut away.

                “Perhaps at the most basic level that is what happened. Ask Rauf about it when you return. He and the Grandmaster are good friends—perhaps he will tell you.”

                “Why don’t you?” I let my brows drift up, kept my stare cold, and waited for him to back down. I wasn’t disappointed. “Sorry.”

                “Better. In any case, I do not think that I could tell the story objectively. I was quite involved myself, and not always in the best way. Rauf had a far smaller personal stake in it all. Suffice it to say that the Grandmaster’s great skill was not without its downsides.” He nodded, silent, legs crossed and head down. “Now, where are you in your lessons? Swordsmanship in particular.” He grinned at that, wriggling excitedly where he was seated.

                “I am the best in my class. Master Rauf says that I am progressing very quickly.”

                “Oh? Show me, then,” I said, standing swiftly and fetching my own sword from where it was settled behind my desk, taking a moment to balance it in my hand. The boy stared. I sighed. “Well? You are here with me for the night, and I will not have Altair say that I taught you nothing but how to hold your tongue. Come, move the cushions out of the way—there is space enough here.” He stared at my empty sleeve. I heard myself growl. “Ah, so that is the trouble. Do you truly think that I forgot how to wield a blade because I lost an arm? I am sure that you’ve been told that underestimating your opponent is the simplest way to wind up dead, have you not?” He nodded and slowly stood, drawing his blade and shifting into a basic stance, though he still looked vaguely unwilling. “You may attack first.”

                He lunged forward, stiff as any novice, and I slid out of the way, watching as he overbalanced and stumbled forward, blade kicking up sparks on the stone floor. His jaw tensed and he swung around, blade swinging with him, and I caught it on my own with ease, admittedly a bit surprised by the strength behind the swing and understanding quite quickly how he was beating his peers. I pressed forward. He jerked back, still too stiff, and I swung out a leg to catch his ankle. He hit the ground, sword slipping from his grasp, and I tapped my own against his neck before I helped him stand.

                “That wasn’t fair,” he grumbled, and I snorted, shaking my head.

                “Your targets won’t fight fairly either—you learn to cheat. I assure you that your instructors will not berate you for it, and should your opponent complain, most will say the same thing I did. In any case, you’d have lost even if I had not kicked you. You rely too much on brute force, and you move too stiffly.”

                “I move how I was taught,” he grumbled, and I rolled my eyes.

                “You go through the motions, and you do it well, but your muscles are tight—you react more slowly than you would if you held yourself more loosely. That’s why you almost fell over when I moved out of the way of your first attack. Have you ever watched the Grandmaster walk before?”

                “What?” He flushed a faint shade of pink. I sighed and tried my best not to show any of the annoyance I felt at the reseponse.

                “I don’t mean in any lewd sense. I only mean to ask if you’ve noticed anything different about the way he moves compared to others in the order.”

                “How do you know what some of the others have said about his… his… stride?” he asked, quiet, low, and still not answering my question. I heaved another sigh.

                “Your peers are not the only ones who noticed. Some of those that he and I trained with used to mock him for walking like a woman until they realized how much faster than them he was because of the way he held himself. Ask him to teach you how to pick pockets—don’t mention how he moves. Eventually you’ll find yourself moving in similar ways. If you can learn to start mixing that sort of reaction time and speed with your strength, you’ll be quite formidable.” He frowned.

                “The Grandmaster knows how to pick pockets?” he asked, and I tilted my head, attempting to look distantly confused even though I knew precisely why he was so adept at it.

                “All assassins learn it later in their training so that they will be able to steal documents and such when necessary. Altair was simply interested in it, and so he studied it further after learning those basics. Some of the way he moves is natural, you understand, and learning that only enhanced it, showed him how to use it more to his advantage.” He nodded seriously, then, picked up his sword again and taking a step towards me.

                “Teach me more,” he said, grinning, and my own lips twitched as I nodded. With the boy there, I couldn’t go deal with the bastard further, as I wished to do, so at least offering a few lessons would allow me to distract myself from the need to go after him again for what he’d done. I took a deep breath and lost myself in teaching for the rest of the evening, though it was far from my favorite thing to do, and by the end was tired enough that I was able to fall quickly into a deep, dreamless sleep when I went to bed. Even still, that made me no less eager to continue my plans after I said my goodbyes to the boy the next morning and sent him on his way back to Masyaf, one of my birds flying just ahead of him to let Altair know that he was returning. I started gathering my things the moment he was gone, and slid into the darkened room smiling.


	3. Chapter 3

He didn’t even bother attempting to get away when I entered this time, and I tried not to show how much that satisfied me. He lay limp against the wall, head back, and I might’ve thought he’d managed to kill himself if not for the slow rise and fall of his thin chest. He flinched when the door closed behind me, though, and held his breath, perhaps unconsciously, when I knelt beside him, tip of my knife light against the soft skin of his throat. I thought again of killing him, but decided against it; he expected it, then, likely scarcely would’ve minded, and that I could not tolerate. I pulled the blade away and he began to breathe again, opening his eyes to stare at me.

“Altair was here yesterday. Did you hear his voice? We spoke for some time by my desk, right in front of this room.” His jaw clenched, and his gaze filled with hatred, as if he had any right to hate me when all I’d done had been to take justice from him.

“Does he know that I am here, what you do to me?”

“Do you remember Altair’s scar? The one across his lips? He asked the other boys to beat him so that perhaps his face would be marred and you would no longer want him. He would have preferred disfigurement to you, and yet still you took what was not yours to take. Have you anything to say?” He spat in my face. I laughed, pressing my shoulder against his chest to keep him still as I raised the knife to his face, hovering over the wound I’d made before. I heard the sharp intake of his breath when I cut him again, opening the wound, deepening it, then the hiss when I turned the line into a cross.

When I did the same on the other side, he couldn’t hold back a groan, low and pained and I laughed again. Blood dripped down his face, staining his clothes and his skin and I cut him one last time, across his lips, deeper and wider than Altair’s scar. His breath was harsh and ragged and I would have called him weak if I thought I could’ve spoken.

“You lie,” he tried, and I slammed the pommel of the knife against his jaw without much thought. I couldn’t tell what was new blood and what came from the injury on his lips but it mattered little and I pressed him more firmly against the wall.

“Shut up. So too did you take the comfort of his thoughts, by forcing him speak. For that…,” I thought for a moment, leaning back until I caught sight of the ring on his finger, the one with the amber stone that matched Altair’s eyes almost perfectly. He had looked at that ring for years and imagined Altair, imagined all he’d done and all he’d taken and imagined that Altair actually loved him. I cut off the finger, right below the ring, before I truly considered it. He howled like an animal and I didn’t react because he was a thief, and so it was a thief’s punishment he’d be given. My own breathing had started to go a little ragged, a little heavy, and I was shaking with anger and with adrenaline, my thoughts coming fast and mangled and near enough to incomprehensible. 

“You animal,” he murmured, over and over, under his breath, eyes wide and terrified and I wondered if he could think to say anything else. I spent a while longer with him that day, taking punishment for minor crimes until I was satisfied and he was bruised and bloody and near enough to broken. I slipped the ring into my pocket, that he might not seek comfort from it that he didn’t deserve. When I left the room, it was with a satisfaction I’d not felt in some time, and it was a struggle to convince myself to send someone to make certain he wouldn’t die of his injuries. Ultimately, though, I did; after all, I needed him alive until Altair came again, at least, and then… then, I would bring Altair to him and I would let Altair end him as he saw fit. I slept that night with a smile and could not bring myself to feel any guilt over it.

* * *

Altair returned sooner than I might have expected, but later than I might have hoped. It was an exceptionally hot day, hot enough that many of the assassins I sent for missions returned within an hour or two, sweating and sick. Even Altair looked a bit ruffled when he dropped into the bureau, light and easy and dressed in his old robes in what I assumed was a valiant attempt to avoid getting sick himself. I stood, back aching some where I’d been bent over a new map, and smiled. He returned it, pushing his hood back to show me his face, eyes glowing more fiercely than the sun.

“It feels like paradise in here,” he sighed, basking in the cool shadows, cheeks flushed a faint a faint shade of pink. I hummed, gesturing towards the pillows I’d brought in early that morning, that my assassin’s might have somewhere to rest away from the worst of the heat. He fell upon them gratefully, and I joined him, stretching leisurely. The comfort of it was worth the shock my assassin’s would surely suffer should they return and find me that way.

“I’d imagine it’s nicer still in Masyaf. What’s brought you here? Surely nothing official, given how you’re dressed.” He shrugged, undoing his belt and his armor so he could remove his hood and robes. I realized as he folded them that I hadn’t seen him without at least some finery since we were novices; he hardly looked like himself in nothing but the coarse shirt and simple pants.

“I simply wished to visit. It was hot and dull, and there was nothing of any importance to be done. I imagine most of the other officials are glad to be rid of me a while.” I laughed, tilting my head back against the wall.

“I’m not surprised, novice. You always were insufferable when you couldn’t be kept busy with something. Still, I admit to being glad that you thought to come see me in your boredom.” His hand settled over mine, and when I looked up, I saw that he too was leaning back, watching the ceiling as if it held any interest to him. His cheeks were still flushed, perhaps a little darker now than they had been when he arrived. I leaned back again, still smiling.

“I doubted your days were any more exciting than my own. I wish you would return to Masyaf; that way we could at least keep one another entertained, and I would not have to travel so far in this insufferable heat.” I snorted, and Altair jolted with surprise. Admittedly, I might have startled myself a bit as well.

“Spending so much time behind a desk has not been good for you; I’ve never known you to complain over the heat before.” I could almost hear the grin in his voice when he spoke.

“I’ve always hated it. You never complained, though, so it would’ve driven me mad to let you know it bothered me. You didn’t answer me, by the way; I would be very happy if you returned to Masyaf. I assure you that I would let only the best take over your Bureau.”

“I didn’t know that that was an offer. You know that if you give me too much, I might be unwilling to let anything go.” He laced our fingers together silently. The air around us felt thick and heavy and for the first time since I’d brought Adib Naifeh here, I spared not even a thought for the man who’d hurt Altair so fiercely. It was a peaceful feeling, and it didn’t fade even when Altair spoke again.

“I offer you nothing that I’d not want you to keep, Malik.” My breath caught. I looked up, and found him watching my face, gaze intent in a way it rarely was outside battle. He gripped my hand a bit tighter, and leaned towards me. I kissed him with abandon, hardly recalling the open roof, the assassin’s I expected to return, the worry I had about his guilt, about taking more from him than he could give me, and for a time I thought perhaps he was right about this being paradise because he kissed me the same way.

“I love you, Altair,” I said when he pulled away, scarcely recognizing my own voice, and his stare softened to honey.

“I think that I love you well. I would… I have not been with anyone before, not of my own will. I never trusted anyone enough, and even if I had… I know well enough that I have never been easy to get along with, and I was always more focused on proving myself an assassin than anything else. That man took much from me, and he took it often. I could not fight. I hated him for that. Part of me still does. I do not want to feel that weak again, but you… you do not make me feel weak.” His eyes were shining, wet and perhaps a bit frightened but bold and honest as he ever was.

“I love you as you are, Altair; your stubbornness and your strength and even your periodic idiocy. I would not have you change and I would take nothing from you not freely given. That man… I despise him for what he did to you. Do you want him dead, Altair?” My eyes flickered over to the hidden room for the barest of seconds, but Altair had always been good at reading me. He stiffened.

“Malik?” he asked, and I shook my head.

“I found him and brought him here some time ago. One hurt for every pain he caused you.” I leaned closer to Altair and imagined that I could hear his heart pounding. The room felt suddenly stifling.

“Let me see him.” His voice was cold and flat and I led him to the room without a thought. Naifeh was pale, now, and far thinner than when I’d brought him here. His once fine clothes were ragged and he smelled like a caged beast. He flinched from the light when the door opened, and I didn’t bother to close it behind me. His breath was wet, like a man near death. I expected I’d broken more than one of his ribs. He was staring at Altair as a man in the desert stared at an oasis.

“My bird,” he said, breathless, “Altair, you’ve finally flown back. You are still so beautiful.” Altair clenched his jaw, standing stiff and straight, Master Assassin instead of man once again.  

“Don’t speak to me. Malik… why did you bring him here?” I could barely hear him in his voice.

“He deserved to be punished for what he did. Would you like to kill him?”

“Altair,” Naifeh whimpered, over and over, edging closer, reaching out to touch his leg. Altair jerked back like a snake had bitten him.

“Don’t touch me either. All you did to me… you are less than an animal. I have never hated anyone else as I hate you.” Naifeh shook violently, leaning back on his haunches, staring up at Altair with parted lips.

“That demon has twisted your mind. You… you speak what it wishes you to speak. My bird, try to remember.” Altair laughed so harshly that it surely hurt his throat, but when he looked at me, his face was flat and expressionless.

“I remember exactly what you have done, and everything I say is what I dreamt of saying every night you came to me. Malik, give me my knife.” My own hand wavered as I did what he asked, and I scarcely breathed as he took it from me and knelt in front of him. “Isn’t it funny what time changes? You once seemed so huge to me, and look at us now. Do you know how many men I’ve killed for less than what you’ve done to me?” I had never heard him sound so detached and for the barest of moments I wondered if perhaps I should have simply killed Naifeh myself and been done with it.

“What has that demon done to you?” he asked, and Altair shook his head.

“Malik never wronged me. Because of me, he lost an arm and a brother, and yet still he can say that he loves me. I… do not deserve that, not from him, but he offers it still and I accept it. You are a waste of a man who preyed on a child and yet still envisions himself as my lover. You deserve to die. You deserve to _suffer_ when you do. When you are dead, you deserve to burn. You…,” he raised the knife, and Adib pleased under his breath, still begging Altair to speak the truth and break my hold on him. I watched intent as he brought the knife down, holding my own breath, but rather than his flesh, the knife landed between his spread legs, inches from his crotch, tip imbedded in the floor. Altair stared at him, shaking and weak and near enough to broken after all the time spent in my company.

“Altair?” I murmured, reaching out for him, and he shook his head, laughing again, lower this time, and almost sad.

“You deserve all of that, but I… Malik, haven’t we both learned how little good it does to kill in anger, or in vengeance? We are Assassins. We are not meant to kill in anger, but necessity. Let him be judged for his crimes against me. Let the Order enact its punishment. I simply want to wash my hands of him and move on. As soon as we leave this room, he is dead.” He spoke quietly, but plainly, and I understood. All the rage drained out of me and I wanted nothing more than to hold him. Altair didn’t look at him when he pulled his blade free, ignored him when he spoke and reached for him, simply moving towards me to wrap his arms around me. I curled my own arm around his shoulder and clutched him close. If my shirt felt damp as we left the room, I did not mention it. I sent a bird to Masyaf telling them the situation, telling them to prepare a trial, and led Altair to my room.

I closed the Bureau and for the rest of the night, I held him tightly. We spoke of simple things, dreams and hopes and idle fantasy, and it was enough. I could have asked nothing else of the world that night, and I slept more soundly at his side than I had in years. The next morning, I told him that I would return to Masyaf and give my Bureau to another. He kissed me like he was drowning and I couldn’t imagine ever letting him go.

* * *

Two weeks later, it was over. I had come back to Masyaf, and a promising young Rafiq had taken my place at the Bureau. Adib Naifeh had been tried and sentenced to die by Order officials, quick and simple, though it was kept secret from most of the Order simply because Altair yet feared that some would see that part of his past as a weakness. Still, he had admitted that he was not a born Assassin, that he had been a thief in Damascus, and all that had changed was a new sort of respect for the others with a similar background.

I was given fine rooms, and most of my days were spent in meetings I cared little for, but Altair told me often that he liked having me there. The other officials said that I kept him level; I imagined he simply didn’t want to give me more reason to tease him. It worked well, and whenever he felt anyone was being too unreasonable, he took great pleasure in allowing me to speak with them in his stead. I trained novices when I could, and sparred with him when I couldn’t, given that, beyond Rauf, I was the only one still willing to fight him.

We tended to spend our evenings together, whether in his study or his rooms, and there were rumors but rumors only spoken quietly and never by any with enough authority to harm either of us. We shared quiet kisses and conversation, and often spent our nights holding one another tightly, as if the other would disappear. I dared not ask for more than that; I was content, however foreign contentedness seemed, and that was enough. In any case, I would have waited an eternity for the chance to experience the night Altair asked me for more.

Our day had been spent mainly in his office, me settled on the window sill watching the gardens as he worked. The Flowers smiled up at us with lidded eyes as they danced, and a cool breeze drifted in, rustling my hair and my clothes. I was half-dozing, and Altair seemed even less aware, head propped on one hand as he stared down at a pile of papers I doubted were of much interest.

“You do not have to wait with me, Malik,” he murmured, voice low and a bit unclear. “Though your presence is always welcome, this is far too dull to have a distraction here with me.” I chuckled, shifting where I sat so that I could look at him more directly.

“Do not lie, novice. You only want me gone that you might have a nap on your desk.” He flashed a grin towards me, eyes glinting in the low, comfortable light of the room.

“Am I so obvious, or do you simply know me so well?”

“A child could see through your attempts at deception, Altair. You’ll get no more work done today whether I’m here or not.” He sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“You are aright, of course. The Flowers have been smiling up at us all day. Shall we go to the gardens and watch them a while?” He’d always liked watching them dance, had since we were novices. Rumor had it that they’d recently begun teaching him some of their art, but I’d never asked. Still, it would not have surprised me, given how bored he often was and the fact that he’d begun teaching them how to wield a knife.

“Certainly,” I said, taking him lightly by the arm. He grinned at me, pressing a feather light kiss to my cheek as we made our way downstairs. It ached when I had to let him go, stand at a distance, but I understood the necessity.

As soon as we entered the garden, three of the Flowers led us to a secluded corner and began to dance. I recalled seeing Altair around the three of them more often than others; I expected that they had some sort of seniority over the others, or perhaps he simply liked them more. Whatever the case, it was obvious that they knew about Altair and I, and they’d led us to a private place. Altair leaned against my side, head on my shoulder, my arm loose about his waist. The Flowers kept their dance more graceful than sensual, and periodically they would stop and we would all chat together. Shortly after night fell, they even dragged the two of us to our feet and had us join their dance. Altair moved fluidly with them, and the rumor of his lessons grew rapidly more plausible.

He moved against me with serpentine grace, body fitting against mine as a lock to a key. I bit back any noise I might’ve made, but the Flowers still laughed amongst themselves, smiling at us kindly. I wanted to never let Altair go, and he tipped his head back to whisper into my ear.

“I love you. Would you like… will you join me in my room tonight, Malik?” My chest felt warm, as it always did when he claimed to love me, and those words that came after, spoken so often before, carried a different weight than they ever had.

“Yes,” I said, “Always. I love you too.” I hardly recognized my own voice, and Altair pulled away slowly. The Flowers obviously understood, stepping aside to let us return, and we walked perhaps more quickly to his rooms than we should have, but I doubted either of us truly cared.

His rooms were cool and dark, and I closed the door behind us as soon as we stepped inside. He pressed himself against me, lips firm and perhaps a bit clumsy against mine, but there was passion there, and want, and that felt better than anything.

“You know what you offer me?” I whispered against his mouth, and he only laughed, loud and free and bold as he ever was.

“Don’t treat me like a child, Malik.” He pressed his body more harshly against mine, lips sliding down to my neck, and I hissed, breath caught in my throat as I squeezed him tightly. “I want this,” he said, and I nodded.

“Yes,” I bit, voice foreign to my own ears. I let go of him only to push him lightly towards the bed, and he went without complaint, falling across it instead of catching himself as he could have, pulling at his clothes as he went. I was altogether too warm all at once, and my breath came in harsh, loud pants. I stalked towards him, watching his robes slide off his shoulders and working to try and shrug off my own.

Though I knew it was stilted and awkward with only the one arm, Altair kept his eyes on me, hooded with want, body flushed faintly pink all the way down to his chest. It was… gratifying, to say the least, and I was on him hardly before I even knew what I was doing, clothing only half-off, lips and tongue and teeth at his neck. It was a brash and perhaps foolish thing to do and I almost laughed because I couldn’t help but imagine that that was how Altair felt always.

Altair’s arms shot around me, gripping me about the small of my back a bit too roughly, hands fisting in the robes as if they were a lifeline. His breath was hitching around low groans that I hardly recognized, and when I raised my head, his eyes were glassy, shining like gold marbles. I kissed him again, unable to resist it as he finally gathered himself enough to push my robes the rest of the way off. I recalled only later that at the time I spared not even a thought for my missing arm.

I felt his length pressing against my hip just as surely as he felt my own, and he looked like an angel and a devil both beneath me, his lips kiss-red and his cheeks still that same enticing shade of pink. And then, quite suddenly, he rolled us over, haughty grin on his face as he bent down and nipped at my neck. I laughed and gasped both, caught in the thought of how like him this was, that he was indomitable in all things, beautiful in his strength. It did nothing for the need to wipe the look off his face until he was a mess of moans and pleasure, and yet… I could admit to being curious as to what he’d do.

He worked his mouth over my skin and I gripped the back of his neck, arching my own neck back to give him space. I felt his eyelashes flutter against my skin, his hair tickling my jaw and my ear before he slid down to my chest. For the barest of moments, he looked lost and perhaps a bit nervous and I slid my hand up to stroke his hair. He was himself again in moments, grinning up at me again like a fool, and I hissed as he licked at my chest, tongue trailing down my stomach to the hem of my trousers. My hand tensed in his hair but he didn’t flinch away, instead settling a palm almost curiously over the place where my cock pressed against my trousers.

My hips jerked up and he laughed breathlessly, fingertips teasing lightly, and I finally let a soft moan slip through my lips and when I opened eyes I hadn’t realized I’d closed I found him palming himself as well, though he stopped as soon as he saw me looking. I bit back a chuckle and trailed my own hand down his chest. His fingers spasmed around me as I brushed a nipple and his lips tightened, holding back whatever noise he wanted to make, so I teased him more, pinching and rolling it between my fingers until he was hunched over me, obviously having long forgotten whatever it was he planned to do.

“Shall we simply tease one another for hours, Altair, or shall we get on with it?” I whispered, and I wasn’t entirely certain how to describe the noise he made then. His hands slid to the waist of my pants and slid them down, throwing them somewhere behind us and moments later his own followed. At the sight of him, all of him, like this, so willing to give himself to me but still so solid, I forgot how to breathe. He looked almost like he felt the same, though I wondered for a time how he could see me as I saw him. At the time, though, I couldn’t spare the energy to think on it much.

Our motions were imbued with sudden urgency; he let me roll us over again, legs spread so that I could settle between his hips. He groped at my ass and my back and my thighs as I sucked my fingers and slid them between his legs, perching carefully so as to not fall across him with nothing to support myself.

He tensed when the first finger went inside him, jaw tight and eyes clenching closed as his nails dug into my skin, but I was as slow and careful as I could be, and finally he relaxed. I listened to the way he breathed, watched the thin sheen of sweat break out over his body, and wanted nothing more than to kiss him again. I stroked slowly inside him, probing gently until I finally found what I sought and he stiffened again, shocked groan tumbling from his mouth before he could stop it and hand wrapping quickly around his cock. I chuckled and he glared at me, eyes smoldering before I did it again and he lost himself to the feeling of it.

The second finger was simpler, so caught in the feeling was he, even as I stretched them apart. His legs only opened more, one hooking around my hips to pull me closer, and I leaned over him carefully to kiss him again, holding myself where I was almost entirely with my stomach.

He stroked my back, lips matching mine with every move, eyes shut but surely blazing, and I slid my third finger in. He tensed again this time, groan more in pain than pleasure, and I kept still for a time, letting him grow accustomed to it again. His breath was harsh in my ear and I kissed his neck and his jaw and his cheeks until he relaxed again, pressing his hips back against my hand. Watching him move was engaging enough that for a time I forgot to move myself, though I was hard and aching against my stomach and he seemed close himself, hand moving faster and head tilted back.

He was as ready as he would be and I doubted I could wait much longer; I spat in my hand, slicking myself as best I could and wishing that I’d thought to bring something better, vowing that next time I would, but as it stood… I entered him slowly and a low, aborted sound rumbled from deep in his throat but he kept urging me further into him with his leg until I was fully settled above him, holding myself up with my hand. He didn’t let me move, instead breathing deeply, stroking himself slowly and carefully, and finally, finally, he rolled his hips against mine.

The noise I made was broken and he teased me for it for weeks after just as I teased him for the sounds he’d made and the both of us vowed to get the other to make those sounds over and over but at the time I could think of nothing but how I doubted I’d ever feel quite so fantastic again. That, of course, was when he forced me back and over, still inside him, and he followed, settled atop me. I thought he was an idiot just as clearly as I thought I loved him, curling my hand about his hip as he started to ride me.

He was tight and hot and he moved with the same sinuous grace he’d shown as we danced. I imagined that nothing would compare to the sight of him above me that way, skin shining with sweat, one hand teasing my chest while the other curled around his own cock. He moved me how he wanted me, bringing himself down perhaps a bit too harshly as he sought his pleasure, but he no longer fought to hold back any noise he might’ve made, instead simply letting me hear. His legs trembled and his hands were shaking and when he came he made a sound like it hurt, convulsing around me before he fell limp across my chest, hips twitching to help me as I moved him against me.

I didn’t last much longer. He was warm and soft against me, whispering sweet words against my neck as we moved for those last few moments. I came inside him and felt fire in my veins and behind my eyes. He sighed and I do not know for how long we simply lay there, taking comfort in one another as shadows settled more solidly across the room.

Eventually, the both of us fell asleep that way, listening to the other breath, and though the morning was rather uncomfortable, I wouldn’t have traded that night for the world.

* * *

 

After that night, I doubted I could have let him go, but then, he didn’t seem to particularly want me to. Our days passed with a simple sort of bliss I didn’t entirely understand, but it was not something I was willing to question.

It was a simple life that I never imagined that I would have, especially not with Altair, but with every sunrise I could think of little to improve it. On some days, of course, our past clouded our eyes and shadowed our thoughts, all the things we’d done and not done and regretted and feared, the burden of one of us was the burden of the other, though it took us both some time to learn as much.

We carried our joy together as we carried our pain, and both we spoke of freely. We were children with each other just as we were adults, weak as we were strong, and as time passed I doubted that either of us was as good without the other. He clutched my hand as fiercely as I clutched his, and when I thought of him I couldn’t help but smile no matter how he frustrated me. No, I certainly could not let him go, but as I leaned against his shoulder, I knew well that he felt the same.

                 

 


End file.
